


Who Can Say What Is Real

by femmenoire



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenoire/pseuds/femmenoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From prison Sun shares Lito and Nomi's love. And is loved in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Can Say What Is Real

She liked to watch Hernando read. 

The way he pushed his glasses up his nose when he was concentrating. 

When he took his glasses off and closed his eyes to think. 

The soft sighs when he read poetry. 

The glass of wine to accompany a novel. 

The look on his face as he read the final pages. 

He was so serene. 

He made her feel. 

***

It had become a routine. 

Every Saturday night, PST, six o’clock sharp, Sun was in San Francisco. 

Amanita liked to wash Nomi’s hair. 

Nomi liked to make Amanita happy. 

Sun liked the feel of Amanita’s fingers softly massaging her scalp. 

The soft sound of her voice as she told her, Nomi, about her day. 

Sometimes Neets would swipe her thumb across Nomi’s hairline or place a warm, wet hand on Nomi’s cheek. Nomi would open her eyes to find Amanita staring at her face as if she wanted to remember every detail. 

And their eyes would meet and Sun could swear that Amanita knew that she was there.

***  
He wasn’t sure he could do it at first, find her, go to her, while she was asleep. 

But now that he could, it had become a routine. 

Once his mother had fallen into a fitful sleep and eventually quieted, Capheus stayed by her side physically. He held her hand. Sometimes she squeezed his fingers in her sleep to remind herself that he was still there; safe.

But mentally he was with Sun. 

He sometimes felt guilty for his divided loyalties. But they needed him. 

And he needed them. 

He sat by Sun’s bedside, sometimes for a few minutes when she seemed at peace. Other times, when he noticed a new bruise or the slight gray pallor of her skin, he would stay longer. 

Sometimes he held her hand. It was an odd feeling, he thought at first, holding both of their hands at once across thousands of miles. No touch was more real than the other. 

He never stayed too long. She would not have liked that. 

But he could not leave her alone.


End file.
